


The Forgotten Valentine

by StellarLibraryLady



Series: Star Trek Winter Holidays Series [15]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Chocolate Reference, Erotic thoughts, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Forgiveness, Heartache, Heartbreak, Indifferent Spock, M/M, Neglect, Neglected McCoy, POV McCoy, POV Spock, Protective Chapel, Regret, Self-Pity, True Love, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, ambivalent feelings, love tokens, valentine's day angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-22 19:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13771041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellarLibraryLady/pseuds/StellarLibraryLady
Summary: McCoy is feeling angst and self-pity from Spock's neglect.  And that is difficult to take, especially around the most romantic holiday of the year.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, Valentine's Day is not letting loose of us too easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV McCoy.

Leonard McCoy stood holding a pile of clean clothing in his left arm as he unceremoniously shoved underwear and T-shirts into his linen drawer. He also held Spock’s underclothing fresh from the laundry. Spock probably wouldn’t have time to distribute his own clothing to their proper locations, so McCoy was doing it for him.

McCoy frowned. 

Spock hadn’t been having time to do a lot of things lately.

McCoy knew that he shouldn’t complain. Spock was readying himself for a special diplomatic mission with Kirk. There was studying that Spock had to do and meetings that Spock had to attend with Kirk, and the mission hadn’t even started yet. But, still, it looked like Spock could take some time for himself and McCoy. Even Kirk was seeing to it that he got to enjoy some free time away from the pressures of duty and work. 

Why wasn’t Spock?

But there was more to McCoy’s worry than not having Spock’s attention. McCoy knew the reason why he had such a chip on his shoulder about Spock’s neglect was that Valentine’s Day had come and gone with nary any mention of it from Spock. McCoy would’ve thought that there would have been something special for him from Spock. Not that McCoy needed anything expensive or extravagant. It could’ve been something as simple as a greeting card printed off the Internet or a wilted flower from that subterranean garden they had explored last month under the surface of Mars. That holiday had been a special treat, and they had both enjoyed seeing how the Martian colony was advancing. It was shortly after that interlude that McCoy had begun to notice a certain preoccupation from Spock.

McCoy just needed something sentimental so that he knew that he was still beloved by the most unique being in the universe. McCoy was still in awe that Spock had chosen him to love, and McCoy seemed to need constant reassurance that it was all true. Not that McCoy didn’t trust Spock. That wasn’t the problem. McCoy simply didn’t trust that something good could happen to him and, more amazingly, would continue to happen to him. McCoy didn’t have the best track record when it came to love. Not that he couldn’t attract love. He just couldn’t seem to hang onto it. And that was all he wanted: a lasting love. And he thought that he had found it at long last with this other social anomaly. They belonged together because they really didn’t fit with anyone else.

That’s why the oversight at Valentine’s Day was hurting so much. McCoy couldn't ignore Spock's general indifference since then, either. And it wouldn’t take much to reassurance McCoy. If Spock simply brushed his fingers across McCoy’s lips while he looked deeply into McCoy’s eyes with promises for later activities, those sweet and personal gestures would’ve given McCoy enough to dream about while Spock was occupied with his special assignment. But, no, there had been nothing, nothing at all.

It had been nearly two weeks now since Valentine’s Day, and McCoy was numb with heartache. After he began to notice Spock’s neglect, he also realized that it had been going on for awhile. It had been building so gradually that McCoy hadn’t recognized it at first. But now it had all the earmarks of all of his other lost relationships. 

Indifference. 

Neglect. 

Gone.

Why could he not hold anyone? What about him was so unlovable that he was always left alone? Why could he not hold onto love? It had to be him. It couldn’t be the other person’s fault. How could it be, when it was his fault? Wasn’t he the one with a string of scars on his broken heart?

But this drifting away by Spock was particularly hurting. McCoy thought that he really had been special to Spock. He thought that Spock, who was about as needy and fractured as McCoy was, really NEEDED him. Maybe not. Maybe McCoy had simply been blind to signs that had been gradually appearing, signs that McCoy had been choosing to overlook until they had become too blatant to be ignored.

McCoy was not imagining that something was wrong. He knew the signs. And the worst was that they were not sleeping together.

That had started gradually, too, the not sleeping together. They always used to sleep in each others’ arms or one spooning the other. Then they began to drift further apart on the bed. And now McCoy was sleeping on the couch because Spock was studying far into the night and did not wish to disturb McCoy. Or so Spock said. At first, McCoy thought that Spock was being considerate. Now McCoy knew that Spock did not want to have McCoy physically near him at night.

And that happened in the daytime, too. When they used to walk or sit together, they always had their hands on each other. The tactile contact had given them reassurance and comfort. The other one was really there. Recently, it had ended. When McCoy realized what was going on, he retreated to lick his wounds in sorrow. Fast to rant about anything else, McCoy was reluctant to confront Spock about Spock's attitude toward him. Perhaps McCoy simply did not want to hear the truth finally spoken that Spock was not interested in him anymore. At least this way, McCoy still had some pride left and some semblance that their relationship was still intact, though cooled. 

So McCoy kept his mouth shut, although his heart was silently breaking by the inattentive Spock.

Spock didn’t seem to notice McCoy’s new robot-like behavior with him, but others did. Kirk often stood with a puzzled frown on his face as he observed them. Their distance with each other was disquieting. What was going on with his two best friends now? 

Kirk’s frown deepened.

Or not going on?

Even their fellow crew mates noticed. When Spock and McCoy had formed a relationship deeper than friendship, they had given peace to their fellow crew mates. They were not snipping at each other as they used to do, and everyone else had sighed in relief. Not that the onlookers didn’t enjoy the banter between the guys, but a love story was so much better to watch. Everybody loves a lover, so the song goes, or should. Spock and McCoy became the darlings of the crew because everyone was so happy for them.

A harmony had pervaded the Enterprise because of the blissfulness between Spock and McCoy. Now that harmony had been disrupted to be replaced by… nothing. Animosity and outright belligerency, the onlookers could have understood. Lovers fight. Lovers part. Rough, but both things happen.

But this, this, whatever this was, just made no sense at all. And everyone felt a little off-balance because of the new tension and situation.

Nobody liked the vacuum that the rift in the Spock and McCoy romance seemed to be causing. Everyone but Spock, that is. He seemed to be blissfully unaware of what was going on. Spock was placidly content with his solitary existence.

But, damn it! McCoy didn’t like it! He didn’t like it one bit!

McCoy threw Spock’s clothing into Spock's drawer and slammed the drawer closed. Let the damn Vulcan figure out where his skivvies were on his own! What if the skivvies were on the side where Spock's T-shirts went?! Maybe the Vulcan wouldn't notice until he couldn't pull a pair of skivvies past those damn pointed ears of his! Maybe then Spock might realize that there was something more wrong than his underclothing not being in its proper place. Maybe even that wouldn't penetrate that damn stubborn brain of the Vulcan so that he realized that something was wrong.

McCoy flinched.

Maybe it just wouldn't make any difference to Spock that there was a problem.

McCoy bit his lips together in determination. He didn't care anymore! If Spock could make the rules, he could sure as hell play by them! McCoy was through! He was outa here!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV Spock.

Spock walked out of the bathroom in clean skivvies. That shower had felt mighty refreshing, but he was aggravated when he discovered that he'd forgotten to grab a clean T-shirt, also. Granted, his mind had been on other things, like the upcoming diplomatic mission. He realized that he was probably obsessing about its importance. The truth was that the mission was important, despite Jim Kirk's ability to walk away from it on occasion. Kirk's attitude had gotten to be, what mission wasn't important? That hadn't been Kirk's original attitude. Was it Spock's imagination, or had Kirk been trying to downplay the mission lately? Kirk had almost been encouraging Spock to take some time off. How could Spock possible do that when there was so much work to do?!

Spock patted across the floor toward the dresser where his underclothing was stored. Their quarters had that unnatural quiet and feeling of expectation when someone isn't there who should be. He frowned, trying to remember why McCoy wasn’t in residence. Where was he, anyway? Eating? Exercising? Spock glanced at the clock. Oh, yes, Leonard would be in sickbay now. It was time for their regular shift. He wondered what that would be like to be on a regular shift again.

Spock shook his head. He’d seemed to have lost track of all time in the last few weeks. Even his internal clock was failing him in the stress of the compact schedule he was now experiencing. Along with his usual duties had been those endless meetings. He was due for another one in just a little while.

He seemed to be so wrapped up in getting ready for this upcoming diplomatic mission with Kirk that he’d had time for little else. He felt a little guilty about neglecting McCoy lately, but McCoy knew how important this mission was. McCoy was not a child. He no longer needed to be catered to as if he was one. McCoy would understand how involved that Spock was with other matters.

Spock grimaced slightly. If McCoy was so understanding, then how come Spock was feeling a little guilty for neglecting McCoy? They really hadn’t had any quality time together since that holiday last month to the underground Martian colony. Spock's lips twitched as happy memories surged through him. They definitely hadn’t needed more than a narrow pallet then. That is, when they had been wasting their private time in sleeping.

They had been happy together then. It had been like a second honeymoon. So glorious. So satisfying.

A grin tugged at Spock's lips.

So exhausting.

The grin faded.

When had it all changed?

Spock shook it off. Maybe he was imagining problems where there weren't any. McCoy could adjust. In fact, McCoy had seemingly been adjusting just fine lately. Spock had seen McCoy doing it. Spock had even seen McCoy back off from amorous encounters. Spock had read subtle hints from McCoy’s body that McCoy was receptive and willing for cuddling and kissing and what generally came naturally after all of that mutual stimulation. And, still, for some unknown reason, McCoy had backed off when Spock had begun to respond. Granted, it had been a chore to put down what he'd been studying, but he could've been willing to have pursued a romantic encounter if McCoy hadn't walked away so quickly. Spock had to admit that he was missing the cuddling and kissing and what generally came after all of that mutual stimulation. Why had McCoy left so quickly?

Spock hoped for time to resolve that puzzling issue with McCoy, just as soon as his schedule allowed. Spock really wanted to get back to cuddling and kissing and what generally came naturally after all of that mutual stimulation. His body missed McCoy's.

For it was a basic fact that Spock accepted as a universal truth that he loved not only McCoy the person, but McCoy’s body as well. And Spock loved handling that fiery body that he could claim as his own, and he loved the little pepper pot that came with it. McCoy’s moods and ideas had always amazed and amused Spock. He knew that he could be entertained and delighted for a lifetime by Leonard McCoy and never get bored. Or sated. Leonard McCoy left a hunger in Spock that could only be quenched with their next encounter. It was ever fresh and ever new with him and McCoy. And exciting.

But when had it last happened that way between them?

Spock drew his eyebrows together in concentration. When had he last had an ‘encounter’ with Leonard McCoy? Spock’s eyebrows drew together more. When had he last touched Leonard McCoy in any way except a casual brushing past of shoulders or their fingers briefly touching when they passed an object between them?

For that matter, when had they last had a serious conversation, instead of using the grunting shorthand that couples can develop between themselves? Spock loved the animated 'discussions' between them. He loved to bait McCoy into an uncontrollable rant. A stirred McCoy was so much fun to corral and to kiss. He loved the squirming, protesting, wiggling body that he had to grapple in his arms. The delicious kissing would start, but not without a fight first. Then McCoy's lips simmered under Spock's, and they had both been consumed in the resulting flames.

When had any of that happened between them lately, though?

Spock’s eyebrows became one as he then asked himself the most important question of all. When had he and McCoy last slept together in the same bed? Not just for sexual congress, but to actually sleep? Sleeping together was the most sacred right between two mates. It was an official acknowledgement of their relationship. It was the right of each of them to be with the other. It was a declaration to any onlookers that this partnership was the way that it should be. Together.

Spock grimaced, realizing something.

Spock had sent McCoy away from the place that was his right to be. Granted, Spock had done it so McCoy could get his needed sleep. Spock was studying and would be doing so far into the wee hours. McCoy might as well be resting. It would be considerate of Spock to sent McCoy away.

But had McCoy seen it that way?

Just how long had McCoy been absent from their conjugal bed?

Spock’s eyes sought out the couch. He could see slight imprints from a human shape, imprints that had not been quite smoothed out by McCoy's hands. What a pitiful place for a person in a relationship to have to sleep. Yet, that was where McCoy thought he had to be. How long? How long now? Spock had the nagging hunch that McCoy had been doing a lot of sleeping lately on that couch. Spock couldn't recall McCoy being in their bed with him for awhile.

He got an unexpected reaction from the situation.

It pissed him off.

What was McCoy's problem, anyway?! Surely, he'd known that Spock hadn't exiled him forever!

If Spock had been a cussing man, here was a golden opportunity for him to employ several of McCoy’s more colorful, earthy expressions. Spock realized that even if the expressions were earthy in nature, a certain personal satisfaction could be gained from the use of those coarse exclamations. What they lacked in dignity, they made up for in exactness. They got the point across that the person using them was vexed. Spock might not always be able to understand the colloquial idioms, but he certainly understood the feelings of angst by the user.

And Spock was feeling a lot of angst right now, more than he generally cared to admit, even to himself. Why was McCoy pulling a temper tantrum now when Spock needed to concentrate on other matters?! To use one of the Earthlings’ many expressions, McCoy would have to ‘man up’ and subjugate his own wants and needs for awhile in favor of Spock’s. That was not only logical to Spock, but made perfect sense to him.

Spock convinced himself that his reasoning was sound. As always, McCoy had overreacted and was definitely in the wrong.

Why then was Spock feeling like the equivalent of an Earthling chickenshit?

Spock had no reason to be feeling as if he had done something wrong, he thought as he ripped open his underwear drawer, grabbed a black T-shirt, and yanked it down over his head. He was in the right.

Then he stared down in stupid amazement at the garment he had just donned. Why was it not fitting him correctly?

Simple logic would say that the garment was not his, but McCoy’s.

The next logical question then was to ask what McCoy’s T-shirt was doing in Spock’s undergarment drawer.

And the simple answer to that question was that McCoy had put it there.

Why had McCoy put it there, Spock wanted to know.

He came up with a whooper of an answer.

Because Spock hadn’t. Spock had not been putting away his fresh laundry for quite awhile, and only now was he realizing it. The fresh linens had always been there when he had reached for them, as if by they had been put there by magic. Now he realized that the only magician in their quarters had been McCoy.

But why had McCoy placed his T-shirt in Spock’s drawer? Never mind, Spock thought, as he ripped off the ill-fitting garment and prepared to return it to its proper drawer. He tore open McCoy’s drawer and looked down at McCoy’s underclothing. They weren’t as tidy as they could have been, so Spock straightened them to appease somewhat his guilt for neglecting McCoy lately. McCoy had been doing chores for him. Spock could return the favor, even if he was a little pissed off at him for his juvenile behavior.

As Spock worked, he chanced to see the edge of a bright red object peeking out from under the stack of McCoy’s black T-shirts. He lifted up the T-shirts with curiosity. Then he picked up a box that was about the size of his hand and about two inches tall. Spock frowned as he studied it.

The box had a strange shape. It was not square or oblong or triangular or even round. Instead, it was shaped like a human heart.

Curious, he thought as he turned the box over. Objects rattled around inside it.

Then his frown deepened, and his bottom lip dropped down in surprise.

Red metallic paper twinkled up at Spock as he realized the significance of the heart-shaped box. But that was not what had stunned him.

What was written on the box lid did. And the fancy script stabbed Spock right in his seemingly callous Vulcan heart.

‘To My Sweetheart On Valentine’s Day.’

Oh, hell. It was a Valentine from McCoy. And McCoy's expletive seemed appropriate for Spock's state of mind. Spock no longer felt like an Earthling chickenshit. Now he felt lower than that steaming mass.

Spock opened the box. Inside were the tiny, heart-shaped pieces of the dark chocolate that he craved. There was only one thing in the universe that he craved more, and that was McCoy’s body.

Why had McCoy ceased to believe that truth? Why had he not given the present to Spock at the appropriate time and been done with it?

Spock answered his own question. Because Spock had gotten progressively colder to McCoy lately. Now Spock was better understanding McCoy’s behavior in the past couple of weeks. Even McCoy’s edging away in bed and his final exodus to a lonely couch was making more sense. McCoy must have decided that leaving Spock's side was his only option.

Shit!

That expletive had come easier.

The final straw must have come when Spock had not even acknowledged Valentine's Day, a day that should be important to lovers everywhere. For the sentimental and fragile McCoy, it must have been very important and then devastating when the big day was passed by in silence.

McCoy must have been saving this gift as a special Valentine’s Day present, and Spock had not given McCoy the opportunity to give the love offering to him. Not only that, McCoy must have decided that Spock wanted nothing more to do with him.

Double shit shit!

How could McCoy think that?!

Spock was torn. He wanted to slap McCoy for his stupidity, and he wanted to gather him close and console him for all of the suffering that McCoy had caused himself. And now, Spock was causing himself suffering, too.

Ashayam, how could you doubt me?

But even as Spock asked, he knew that McCoy was not the only guilty party for this misunderstanding. Spock must claim his part of the blame.

He must explain himself to McCoy and plead his case. He would use logic, he would use firmness, he would use respect. He would not let his disappointment in McCoy show, even though Spock felt hurt by it. The bottom line was that Spock had not been diligent, and he knew it.

Ashayam, how can I make this up to you? I have done you so much wrong, and I am so sorry.

But there was no time to berate himself now. He must find McCoy and try to make amends.


	3. Chapter 3

“Tired, Doctor?” Chapel asked with sympathy.

McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. Then he stared, unseeing, across the room with blurring eyes. “Yeah. I haven’t been sleeping too well lately.” He closed his eyes and rolled his head on his shoulders.

“Why don’t you get some rest in your office? Sickbay is quiet right now.”

“You’ll call if you need me?”

“Of course. Go on, now," she urged gently. "Rest awhile.”

As he disappeared into his office, Chapel was amazed that she had accomplished that feat without too much argument. McCoy acted as if the heart had been taken right out of him. And if grapevine talk was true, Spock was the one who had done that cruel surgery on McCoy. 

 

Sickbay stayed quiet. Chapel saw to that. And not much really happened until Spock came charging through the door and skidded to a stop in front of Chapel.

“May I help you, Commander?” Chapel asked pleasantly as Spock pointedly looked around sickbay with wild eyes.

“Is Dr. McCoy here?” he growled.

“In his office,” she answered and made no move to stop him as he plowed past her toward McCoy’s inner sanctum. She sighed. Maybe those guys could get their lives straightened out. It was obvious that neither one of them was happy.

McCoy had been sitting in his chair at his desk, but not working. Instead, he had been staring at the floor without really seeing it for quite awhile. If he’d been asked to describe the floor, though, he could not have done it. It was simply something that kept McCoy from seeing into the area that was a story below him. That's all that he needed to know for his world to keep on functioning in any sort of acceptable order.

Then McCoy forgot all about the floor and its purpose in his life as Spock suddenly boiled into his office. The intruder didn't look very happy.

McCoy’s first reaction was to wonder why Chapel had admitted anyone when it was so obvious that McCoy had wanted to be alone.

His second reaction was to widen his eyes as his heart leaped in recognition of Spock. 'Spock! Darlin!' You're here!'

His third reaction was to try to put the screen of indifference back onto his face and into his eyes.

His fourth reaction was to fear that Spock was going to attack him, for the Vulcan was hurtling toward him with breakneck speed and a hardened glare of determination on his darkly mottled face. McCoy braced himself for the imminent collision. He wouldn't be able to defend himself against Spock's greater physical strength. When the berserk Vulcan finished with him, McCoy would be nothing but a grease spot on that floor that he'd recently been studying so intently. He'd die, still not being able to describe it, though.

Then, just as Spock reached him, Spock’s forward impetus stopped, and Spock stared wildly down at McCoy with opened mouth and blazing eyes. With all of that panting he was doing, Spock sounded like he was short of breath. Whatever, he was upset about something.

Now, what, McCoy wondered. If you're going to kill me, get it over with fast. My life isn't worth living, if you don't love me anymore.

Maybe Spock read McCoy's thoughts, but he probably just ran out of indignant steam. Seeing McCoy sitting there so quietly grounded him. Spock's resolves to be logical and firm had lasted only as long as it took him to rush across the room. Here was McCoy, the person who owned his heart. How could Spock be angry or short with McCoy for missing him? Now, all that Spock wanted was to be reunited with McCoy. He didn't care how degraded and pathetic that he needed to be. He would beg for his life like any crazy, desperate fool should. Because that was what was at stake here. Without McCoy, he would not have a life worth living. He would be nothing.

Spock dropped to one knee in front of McCoy and startled the hell out of McCoy. The good doctor had been expecting an attack, not a supplication on bended knee. Spock's facial glare changed into a contrite look as his sorry heart wrote pleading volumes on his tragic face for McCoy to read. 

Spock hoped that the humanity that he knew dwelt within McCoy would help Spock as he tried to plead for the most precious thing in his life. Above his service to Star Fleet, above his devotion to Jim Kirk, above anything that he could name, Spock knew that he could not do without having Leonard McCoy in his life. As aggravating as McCoy could be at times, Spock still needed McCoy with him and loving him.

The change in Spock's speed and demeanor startled McCoy so much that he reached out a helping hand to steady Spock and to placate him. McCoy could see great sorrow on Spock's face. He must ease that suffering.

“Spock! What’s the matter?! What's happened?!”

Then McCoy was struck by what it could mean. Fear gripped his heart.

“Jim! Has something happened to Jim?! Oh, God... No!”

That question sidetracked Spock for a moment. He saw the terror on McCoy's face. Their mutual love for Jim Kirk was only one of the many things that they had in common, but it was a very strong tie between them.

“Jim? What?" Spock frowned. "Jim?" His face cleared. "No, Jim is fine. Leonard, Leonard, listen. It is me.”

McCoy paled as he panicked. “Are you alright?!” Nothing else mattered, but that. Oh, Lord, don't take Spock!

“Shh, Leonard. I am fine. Nothing is wrong with me.”

McCoy wilted in relief. “Thank heaven.”

“At least, not in the way that you are thinking,” Spock said, trying to get back on track with his apology. He had come to make amends. But so far, all he had accomplished was to scare the hell out of McCoy.

McCoy frowned. “What do you mean?”

Spock lowered his other knee to the floor. He felt that would make him look more like he was begging, which, he realized now, he was. “Leonard, I am sorry. I am so sorry about what you have been going through lately. I did not realize how you have been suffering. I am so terribly sorry for the way that I have treated you.”

McCoy’s frown deepened. Something wasn’t quite right here. Spock was smart, but he wasn’t people smart. Perhaps somebody, somebody like Jim, had gotten to Spock and had explained to the Vulcan just how much of an ass he had been acting towards McCoy lately. Spock was not one to make great discoveries about emotional matters on his own. Something had happened to change his way of thinking. Either somebody, or some THING, had influenced Spock, because he was acting as if he had experienced an epiphany of some sort, an epiphany that had assumed gargantuan proportions.

For once, Spock followed the thought processes on McCoy’s face. He knew what he must explain to McCoy.

“Leonard, I found the candy box in your drawer," he said softly. "The candy that you intended to give to me on Valentine’s Day.”

Well, that would explain the epiphany, alright, McCoy realized. The Vulcan was feeling his justifiable guilt. For some reason, though, McCoy wasn't pleased. He wanted more. But at the same time, he wasn't too proud of himself for wanting more. Then he realized that he wasn't too proud of what he had just heard, either, and he should have been. He just felt lousy.

Yet, he had his reasons, damn it! And they were justifiable! Spock had been neglecting him! There was still that issue, despite McCoy's ambivalent feelings.

Damn Valentine's Day! Why did it have to be on the calendar?! It was just a trouble maker when things were already going wrong!

He should've never gotten that candy!

He should've never kept it!

McCoy turned away. “I should have tossed it.”

Spock looked confused. “Why?”

“Why give you something that you would not want?”

“But I love dark chocolate. I will always appreciate receiving a gift of dark chocolate.”

“I phrased that incorrectly. Why would you want any kind of present from me?”

“Why would I not?”

McCoy shrugged. He was too tired to explain.

Spock grabbed McCoy’s knee, causing McCoy to look down at him. Spock’s face was more animated than McCoy had ever seen it.

“Leonard, why would I not want a token of love from you?”

Why waste the effort to explain his thinking, but McCoy decided to try. “On the other hand, why would you?”

McCoy was treated to a wide variety of colors on Spock’s generally swarthy face. A myriad of greens, from the palest shade of Wyoming jade to soured dark green mud that was drying near a hidden frogpond deep in a woodland glade, flowed in iridescent waves over the Vulcan’s startled countenance. The doctor in McCoy grew alarmed for Spock’s health. What sort of attack was coming over the Vulcan now?

But the injured lover hardened inside himself to Spock’s plight. Let the Vulcan suffer. Spock had made this bed. Spock deserved to lie in it. Besides, why avoid the truth any longer? Deserted beds and ungiven candies were just danger signs and not the real concern.

“You don’t need to pretend, Spock. I'm aware of what's happening."

Spock's face reflected the confusion he was feeling. "What? I do not understand. What is happening?"

McCoy sighed. "I know it’s over. I know it's finished between us.”

That time Spock’s face opted for the milky pale shade of Wyoming jade. However, his skin didn't then darken to drying pond mud as it had before. That's when McCoy began to worry that Spock would faint.

But McCoy could not be taken in by concern for someone's health. He must also be vigilant for himself. He turned his whole body aside, breaking the hold that Spock’s hand had on his knee.

With the contrite look still on his face, Spock walked on his knees to follow McCoy. It would've been an amusing duck-walk to have witnessed, if the situation hadn't been so serious between them. 

“Leonard--”

McCoy pivoted his shoulders further away. He was the injured party here, after all.

Complete tragedy covered Spock’s face. Not knowing how else to plead with words, he pulled his arms around McCoy’s knees and buried his face in McCoy’s lap. He was a man completely distraught. He was throwing himself on McCoy's mercy. Spock had no more arguments. He was running on pure instinct. And emotion.

McCoy flinched as he felt Spock’s body began to shake. Hell, McCoy didn’t want to destroy the guy. After all, he loved the little green bastard. That was all that was really important, not who was right or wrong or to blame. (Although, in this case, the Vulcan clearly was, McCoy decided stubbornly.)

McCoy just wanted a little sugar from him, just a little regard occasionally. Was that too much to ask?

But all the while he was thinking those thoughts, he was also aware that his heart was breaking for Spock's suffering. Because that's what you do when you love oneself. That person is more important to you than you yourself.

Maybe it was time to accept his share of the blame.

McCoy turned back to Spock and lay his hand on Spock’s shoulder. “Don’t. It’s not good for a Vulcan to show this much emotion.”

Spock looked up with tears shimmering in his eyes. “How can I not? I hurt you, Leonard, and I am so sorry.”

“It’s partly my fault,” McCoy said gently. “I should have fought for our relationship, instead of reveling in being a martyr.”

Spock felt a glimmer of hope that the crisis was past, but now he had another concern. “I do thank you for your present, but I have nothing to give to you.”

“Oh, yes, you do,” McCoy said gently.

"I do?" Spock asked with genuine awe. Maybe he could redeem himself, after all.

"You do," McCoy said as he pulled Spock up into his lap and folded his arms around his Vulcan. He tried not to sigh in contentment. Let the Vulcan sweat a little more. That would make the make-up sex so much sweeter. And McCoy had definite hopes that they were headed in that direction.

“And what is that, Leonard?” Spock murmured as he huddled in the circle of McCoy’s arms. "What can I give to you that is equal to chocolate?"

"Actually, it's better than chocolate," McCoy explained in a husky voice.

"Really?" Something better than chocolate?

That's right," McCoy murmured as he ran his hand up and down on Spock's arm.

McCoy knew that Spock couldn’t see him smile, but he knew that Spock could hear it in his voice.

“Just let me hold you, and I’ll tell you all about it, darlin.' You see, it's all so marvelous, so very, very marvelous.”

 

Awhile later, Jim Kirk came drifting into the quiet sickbay. He looked around in much the same way that Spock had done earlier, but he didn't look so intense about his inspection.

“May I help you, Captain?” Chapel asked pleasantly.

"Pretty quiet in here," Kirk remarked.

"It's a good day for us," Chapel agreed.

“I was looking for Mr. Spock. Is he here?”

Chapel glanced at the door to McCoy’s office and smiled. “Yes, he is.”

“He’s late for a meeting.”

“He’s not making that meeting today,” Chapel explained patiently. 

“Well, he’s needed!” Kirk roared.

Chapel stiffened. “He’s needed worse, elsewhere. And I am here to see that he is not disturbed. Neither one of them.”

Kirk studied the determined nurse and the closed door behind her. Then his face softened into a grin. “Well, it’s about time. Carry on, Chapel.”

Chapel smiled pleasantly once again. "Yes, Captain."

Kirk headed out of sickbay with a light step. Scotty could help him until Spock was available.

Which probably wouldn't be for a day or so, Kirk figured.

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing of Star Trek, its characters, and/or its story lines.


End file.
